


The Passions Behind Our Powers

by MarveledMischiefAndMadameFluff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men Evolution
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Multi, There's not really much to tag, but only sometimes, everyone is in love, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarveledMischiefAndMadameFluff/pseuds/MarveledMischiefAndMadameFluff
Summary: A series of one-shots where we introduce the very moments that each character realizes they feel something for the other, and some of them aren't really sure what to do about it.There is nothing but fluff ahead, so don't expect smut. Possibly slight angst in some chapters.**This is based off of an AU made up specifically by both of the authors, and all ships exist in the same universe.**





	1. Stay Afloat {Steve x Tony}

**Author's Note:**

> \+ First Chapter - Stony (Steve/Tony) +  
> ~ Written by Mischief ~
> 
> The times of each chapter will vary throughout the timeline that we have created, and they will not be posted in any specific order, so we apologize for any confusion that may come. Also, since these are one-shots, you don't have to read them all if you dislike a certain ship, but don't bash any of our ships as we care about them greatly and have our own personal reasons for shipping what we do.

New York City – Home to hundreds of vulnerable citizens and some of the world's greatest superheroes.

If you could call them that.

While some accepted the idea that they were such a thing, others were not so quick to agree. After all, most of them weren't really all that 'super', and the term 'hero' could be debated. Though lately it appeared that the people of New York were united in the idea that they truly were heroes; kids and adults alike donned Avenger-themed merchandise, discussed who their favorites of the group were, and cheered for the saviors that kept the city from falling victim to a power-hungry god.

But – of course – being that savior was not without sacrifice.

_“Nothing's been the same since New York.” He hardly heard Pepper's response. “You experience things and then they're over, and you still can't explain them. Gods, aliens, other dimensions. I'm just a man in a can. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because everyone else moved in. Which is great. I love them. I'm lucky._

_“But Pepper, I can't sleep. They go to bed, I come down here. I do what I know. I tinker. I… Threat is imminent. And I have to protect the one thing that I can't live without-”_

“Tony?”

The scientists' head cleared, the call pulling him back from the depths of his distracted mind. Dark eyes lightened and he found himself at the center of attention. Many of the Avengers had gathered in the living room, relaxing while at the same time discussing the possibilities of another attack. A few key faces were missing, and he could hear a soft conversation in the kitchen.

The voice that had first spoken seemed to recognize that oblivious expression, because it spoke up again in calming reassurance that he wasn't in any trouble. “Are you okay?”

His gaze met brilliant blue eyes that washed over him like a tranquil sea, easing the rocking boat of his thoughts back into quiet waters and allowing him to release a sigh through his nose. It wasn't quite one of relief, but it was present.

“Yeah, I'm… I'm good.”

The face he was met with was one of unbelieving disapproval. Ouch.

“I'm _fine_ ,” he tried again, though a lurking in the far reaches of his mentality made him aware that his words were false. He felt… something. Something that bubbled, waiting, scratching at his inner walls, screaming in his overworked mind.

He was not fine.

As the concern-riddled, perfect face of Steve Rogers turned to continue a conversation with Natasha, Tony found himself sinking back into the menacing claws of uneasy waters. He looked to Bruce, perhaps in hope of striking up an intelligent conversation about whether or not someone could actually figure out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect. To his disappointment, Bruce was not there. He was probably in the kitchen, along with Clint, who also appeared to be MIA.

His saliva was thick in his throat as he swallowed.

Air filtered quickly through his nose as he took a deep breath, but soon found he wasn't focusing as much as he previously had been. His mind gave a sharp throb, and a grunt must have escaped him because he soon felt eyes on him again. _Oh god_.

When he looked up, images blurred, the world turning in slow motion across a screen that he was no longer watching. The air in his lungs turned stale, rapidly spreading throughout every fiber, every cell. He could feel the very core of his being burn with a poisonous gas, his heart screaming in response to the infection. Voices were muffled echoes in a mind that could no longer process the words of concern that came from his friends; quiet hums turned to shouts and the world was moving underneath him. He was stumbling, clawing at the walls, no longer sitting in the living room – where was he?

He needed air – needed to get out. Get out. _Get out._

 

 

 

 

When he came back to himself, he was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees which were pulled tight to his chest. The only sound was the soft _tha-thump_ of his heart in his ears, beating strong and fast, meeting his slowly calming breaths.

“Tony…?”

The voice was hesitant this time. Chestnut eyes flickered up to meet clear, sky-blues. That was such a pleasant sight. They were so beautiful. It reminded him of the soft brush strokes of an artist who was building a masterpiece of endless blue. Those eyes were the crystal ocean, the cloudless skies, the brilliant glow of an arc reactor that held so much life…

“Are you okay? Tony?”

He blinked, finally able to focus on the entire picture before him. It was Captain America himself- no. It was Steve. Steve Rogers. The gorgeous Star-Spangled Man with a Plan himself.

“Y-yeah,” he finally replied, his voice momentarily betraying him with a stutter. His gaze continued to search those baby blues and he realized that in that second, his mind was clear. It wasn't cluttered with troubling images, wasn't plagued by panic and distress. “Yeah, I'm… I'm okay now.” He hardly registered the smile that pulled his lips, one that was the first genuine smile since all of Loki's chaos.

“You sure?” the blonde inquired further, brows scrunched together to wrinkle that normally smooth forehead.

There was a pause, as though the scientist had to think about it before replying with a nod. “I'm alright, Cap.”

The slightly concerned, slightly relieved smile that spread across that obscenely perfect face served to wrap a tight string around Tony's heart, which he swore skipped a beat without his permission.

“Wanna go out, get some fresh air?” Steve offered, one hand outstretched to help the smaller man up.

The brunette stared, unsure, before slowly reaching up to take it. When he was back on his feet, he couldn't help but stare up at that stupidly beautiful face, eyes searching desperately for a flaw he'd never find. “That sounds like a good idea.”

When Steve's face lit up, Tony swore he choked, all air escaping his lungs in such a way that for once didn't make him feel like he was about to die. He cleared his throat. “Maybe we can get some of that shwarma stuff while we're out,” he continued, trying to brush off the moment of panic that'd previously wrapped his entire body in shock, even if he was still visibly shaken.

“Yeah? You liked it that much?” Steve hummed as he began towards the nearest elevator, though his eyes never left the billionaire.

“Eh, it was okay enough.” His lips twitched as he looked at the floor.

Their hands never left each other's.


	2. Don't Ruin It {Wade x Peter}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Second Chapter - Spideypool (Wade/Peter) +  
> ~ Written by Madame Fluff ~
> 
> Mischief: This section is supposed to be where Madame Fluff explains something or other about life or ships, but she has informed me that she can't think of anything to put here so I am going to fill in. Normally the notes will be written by whoever made the chapter it's on, except in cases like this. But we will always tell you if there is a difference in who is speaking, such as the one you are seeing right now. If there is no clarification, you can rest assured that the notes were written by the author of the chapter you're reading.

Who ever decided beeping was the right sound to wake up to? Why not the sound of a lawn mower backfiring at this point?

Bleary eyes and frustrated grunts proved to be the defining features of Wade Wilson as he slid himself from the sheet-less mattress he called a bed. The piles of dirty clothes and - oh... Something crunchy... - greeted his nearly limp body as he dug through to find his alarm clock. He wondered how in the hell the thing had even gotten set. One tedious task after another flashed before him like some kind of cheesy montage, and before he knew it, his teeth were brushed, clothes were on, keys were found, and his socks even matched. Good job him.

His bike roared to life beneath him with a volume that suggested he should probably have it looked at (though, of course, he never would). Before he could leave, however, Logan (because of course he would) had planted a sturdy hand on his shoulder. He jumped and looked up. Logan began talking.

"I hope you know you aren't going back to that Merc-hole," he said.

Wade sighed. Of course he wanted to ruin his fun and keep him away from his friends. He rolled his eyes.

"Look," Logan continued, even though it was obvious Wade didn't want to hear it, "We need your help."

Two hours later, his ass was in red spandex

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is the story of how Wade Wilson robbed a bank under orders from the X Men. Honestly. It wasn't his idea.

Storm and Logan were supposed to free a falsely imprisoned mutant, but they needed to stay under the radar. Wade was a distraction for law enforcement, and _damn_ he made a good one. Everything would have been perfect - if the Spider-Man had kept at bay.

He just _had_ to swing his perfectly round, twink ass into Wade's business. Of course. The infamous Deadpool was making away with a good amount of cash (which Xavier would make him give back later) before the web-head greeted him with a kick to the head. Ow.

"Now that's no way to greet a friend, Spidey," he said with a disapproving tone.

Spider-Man simply continued his assault, ending up webbing Wade to a brick wall. Okay. As fun as this was, Deadpool didn't want to go to jail.

"Hey, wait!" he called as Spider-Man turned away.

The lanky man sighed, "What?"

This was a fun game they played, the two of them panting with the exertion of fighting one another off. It was exciting.

"I was put up to this. C'mon. The X-Men can vouch for me!" he said.

Spider-Man simply shook his head before taking off. Stupid, adorable, sexy Spider-Man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One interesting run in with the police later, Wade was back at the mansion, not so worse for wear. Logan didn't even thank him, the bastard. Still, Storm seemed appreciative enough, so he let it slide.

He laid awake that night thinking about how cute Spider-Man's ass was as he walked away. Well... swung away. The sexual frustration was undeniable, and he took it out on his poor unicorn that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He honestly hadn't meant to mess up so bad. How was he supposed to know that Scott didn't have another pair of glasses? They looked cool, can't he catch a break?

Long story short, the damage was enough to make Magneto impale him with every knife in the kitchen and demand he be taken care of. The professor hadn't gotten a word in edgewise before he was being pulled out of the building by Logan. The short, stocky man was red in the face with anger, but Wade was already impaled enough apparently.

Next thing he knew, he was being shoved through the front door of the Avengers tower.

"Excuse me?" a tall woman in the lobby said.

"Get the tin man down here _now._ " Logan demanded. Wade giggled before the grip on him was tightened.

The woman looked startled, and soon enough Tony Stark and Steve Rogers came out of the elevator. Stark breathed a sigh of relief after a moment.

"Oh, it's just you," he said, giving no more than a glance to Wade.

"We need you to take him," Logan replied.

The look of horror on the two Avengers' faces was almost comical.

"Hell no," Tony snorted.

"You are the only ones we could trust to control him. He can't be with us anymore. It's this or the streets."

The threat of setting Wade free on the general public was enough to convince the ever-righteous Captain, who nodded as if Deadpool was a suicide mission. Tony tried to argue, but he eventually lost to the other two, and Wade was taking the awkwardly long elevator ride up to the top floor.

"Penthouse, huh? Whoo!" he mused, taking in the view as the other two men remained silent. He lifted his mask once the other two walked away, and his eyes scanned the horizon. He could hear them feverishly whispering in the kitchen area, but he tried not to listen. He knew what it was about anyway.

Introductions flashed by, because apparently a lot of people lived here. A few people stood out to Wade, including Thor (because c'mon, he's _a god_ ) and Natasha Romanov (because c'mon, she's _smokin'_ ). However, the one who stood out the most was Peter, a skinny brunette with a cute smile and an even cuter ass. He was an apprentice of Mr. Stark, and Wade could just stare at him forever.

Peter seemed panicked when he saw Wade in the living room, and he went stiff when the new living situation was explained to him. Wade didn't blame him though. He made a lot of people uncomfortable.

"Um... Hi, I'm Peter," said the tragically cute brunette.

"You can call me Wade, gorgeous," Deadpool shot back.

Peter visibly stiffened, and Wade was greeted with a very sharp look from Captain America. "Wade. **Stop** ," he barked.

When he was shown to his room, it wasn't anything impressive. A twin bed, white sheets, a dresser, a closet, and a bedside table. It looked like a modern and sleek hotel room. It was so... _clean_. He could fix that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wade, what the hell is this?" Peter whined.

"My... room?" he answered, mask pulled over his face.

Peter sighed. The room really was a disaster area. Pizza boxes and dirty clothes covered the floor, which was peculiar given the fact that he only ever wore three outfits.

"And where have you been?" the Merc continued, "Haven't seen you around in a couple of hours."

"I was out," Peter said all too quickly. However, as he turned to leave, Wade got a beautiful view of his perfect booty. In fact, he had only ever seen one booty as perfect as that...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're Spider-Man!"

"Wha-?" Peter shot upright in bed, scrawny torso bare for Wade's eyes.

"That's why you live here. You- You're- _holy shit_!"

Suddenly there were webs on his masked mouth.

"OK- yes- fine, I am, just- Shhhh!"

"Mmmmmhmhmmm."

Peter sighed. "How did you-" he stopped, realizing Wade couldn't speak. He stood, slowly gripping the bottom of the other's mask and rolling it up over his lips. The sight of the scarred skin made him pause. Damn.

There was a sharp intake of breath before Wade pushed his mask the rest of the way off, revealing his mangled features... and crystal blue eyes.

"Wade, I... I didn't know."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It was your ass."

"What?"

Wade was lounging on the edge of Peter's bed, Xbox controller gripped in his scarred hand. His face was visible, unmasked.

"I said it was your ass."

Peter turned pink beside him. "What was my ass, Wade?" He asked, sounding as if he was trying to shake the comment off.

"I recognized your ass. I spent a lot of time looking at Spider-Man's so... You know." He smirked, practically feeling the heat radiating off of Peter's cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Thanks for this."

"For what?" Peter asked.

"The Taco Bell trip," Wade chuckled. Living with the Avengers was like being permanently grounded, and he wasn't ever allowed to leave unless someone came with him. Peter had agreed to a trip to Taco Bell, which happened to be his favorite.

The two super-humans munched on the cheesy goodness in silence for a while before Wade reached for a packet of hot sauce. He gave it a look and chuckled, sliding it across the table to Peter with an eyebrow wiggle. It read:

_'It's okay, you can say it. I love you too.'_

Peter turned bright red, flinging a handful of his Mild packets at Wade's face.

They held hands walking home that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're so pretty, Pete."

"Shush, I brought you to the roof to look at the sky, not me."

"But you're prettier."

Peter sighed, resting his head on Wade's shoulder with a huff. He was pouting and that was just... adorable.

It had been a few weeks since the hot sauce incident, and Wade was confused as all hell about the affection Peter was showing. But he guessed that was okay. So long as it kept happening. Peter was his best friend in this tower, even if that was kinda sad.

"You're too much," Peter grumbled.

"So I've been told," was the reply.

Wade slowly wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders, and he surprisingly let him. A few minutes of comfortable silence stretched on before Peter broke it.

"Maybe the hot sauce was right," he said, red-faced yet again.

"Oh yeah?" Wade said, trying not to look as excited as he was.

"Maybe... Now don't ruin it," the brunette grumbled, pressing a kiss into Wade's jaw, wondering how in the hell Deadpool had managed to take his heart from him.


	3. You Will Be Okay {T'Challa x Scott}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Third Chapter - T'Challa x Scott +  
> ~ Written by Mischief ~
> 
> Okay, so some of you might be thinking "This is a weird ship. How would that even work?" And I get that it's essentially a rarepair, but don't knock it till you think about it enough. And if you are one of those beautiful souls that already ships it, or you end up shipping it after this chapter, please comment to let me know! I'd love to find others that enjoy these two nerds being together as much as I do.
> 
> Also, sorry if the story is spaced wierd or if I missed a paragraph spacing. I'm editing/writing this from my phone.

He was… tired. He was so, so tired.

  
But, that came with the job, he supposed. After all, the saying “Heroes never sleep” didn't come about for no reason. Or was it “Justice never sleeps”? Whatever. He didn't care enough right now to try and remember the phrase, and it frankly just wasn't worth the energy.

  
After the big feud between Captain America and Stark, their paths had been split. He'd wanted to go back into hiding, to stay in the US so that he could still visit his little princess. He'd been doing fine before – if you count staying with his friend, sleeping on a beat up couch, and gorging himself on pizza and McDonald's as doing fine.

  
At the time, Arrow Guy's call had sounded like the offer of a lifetime. Fighting with Captain America – _the_ Captain America – was simply something he couldn't refuse. He'd idolized the Avengers for years since their first big battle in New York, but that guy was by far his favorite. What wasn't to love? He was the face of good, old-fashioned American freedom. It was classic!

  
Arrow Guy had explained it to him before he'd even accepted, but the inward buzz of adrenaline to work with – again – Captain _fucking_ America had still been fresh, and to be honest he'd never been good at paying attention and thinking things through. Not in the moment, at least. He may have been basically a genius, but that didn't mean he always made smart choices.

  
In this case, he'd made the worst possible decision.

  
And now he was stuck in Wakanda, home of the Black Panther king that had somehow changed his mind and decided to take pity on the now heavily wanted superheroes. The king had welcomed them with surprisingly open arms, allowing them to take shelter in a secret base hidden deep within a lavish jungle (or maybe it was a very large forest) far within Wakandan territory. And despite their loss of outside human contact, they were safe.

  
But at what cost?

  
He couldn't see his daughter anymore. He couldn't call her for fear of being traced back and found, the potential threat of going back to the high-security super-prison looming over him like a phantom menace, ready to close its eager claws around his throat. It wasn't fair! He had a family he needed to get back to! But instead of making surprise visits to his old house and playing horse-y with Cassie while Maggie rolled her eyes with irritable fondness, he was laying awake at night in a high-tech, high-security, low-profile base out in the middle of butt-fuck _nowhere_.

  
It had been months since they first moved in though, T'Challa spending as much time with them as possible and updating them on any bits of news from America that he could get his hands on. And yet, just the thought of the States was enough to turn Scott away from a conversation.

  
Today had not been any different.

  
While he probably should have been used to it all by now, the feeling of missing home still permeated every inch of his mind, wrapping it in a constant cloud of negativity and fatigue. He couldn't shake the feeling. He knew what was wrong; it was the same thing that had always been wrong since the days he'd fought with Maggie before the divorce. It was a disease, a parasite, a form of agony that drained his optimism and pestered him with voices that called _You're a disappointment_ and _Cassie deserves better than a dead-beat father like you._ And he couldn't help but believe it.

  
No one else knew. He would plaster a wide grin on a tired face, pushing about jokes and juggling his everyday tasks like each move was a chore, like every bit of energy expelled was just the next step towards the pit he was bound to fall into, never to be seen again.

  
He needed his medication. He didn't want his medication.

  
Medication made his brain fuzzy, made it to where he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. It made him a zombie, turning him into the programmed happy-bot that the government wanted you to be. He despised it. Popping pills shouldn't be a part of his morning routine just to make him feel… ‘normal'. He could be normal without it.

  
And yet as much as he tried, it was never quite right. He was never the Scott Lang people wanted, the one that people _deserved_.

  
_How long do you think you can keep up these petty games? You know that you can't make them happy. You can't **fix** anything. You couldn't even fix your relationship with Maggie. And now, even if you do find a way back, she's **never** going to let you near Cassie again._

  
“Scott?”

  
He almost missed the voice between his choking sobs, hands flying to wipe quickly at his face. He was fine. He was okay. Just pretend it was nothing. They never ask questions when you smile.

  
_Because none of them care. Half of them don't even remember your name._

  
“Are you okay?”

  
He looked up from his position on the ground. He'd fallen to his knees in the greenhouse, surrounded by beautiful Morning Glories and Impala Lilies. His eyes were rimmed with red, glassy and plain, though soon covered in a guard as he forced his boiling emotions back into their rightful cage.

  
“Huh? O-oh, yeah.” He picked himself up, adjusting his clothes to smooth out any wrinkles. His knees ached, probably from the impact of hitting the hard walkway. “I was just admiring the flowers…”

  
The king did not seem so easily persuaded, and his expression was one of soft concern, brows knit softly together. His arms were folded politely behind his back, and he was adorned in fanciful attire per usual. He stood almost a whole head taller than Scott, and his presence brought an odd form of peace with it, one that said you would be safe and protected. “From the ground?” His accent was so endearing. The way it flowed so easily with a soft and yet deep voice was enough to make Scott pause to admire the lips that spoke to him.

  
_You're pathetic_.

  
His eyes were drawn to his own feet, staring at the scuffed up old shoes that looked as worn as he felt. “I wanted to get a better angle.”

  
_He doesn't actually care, you know. He's pretending to take interest so that you can stop making everyone feel uncomfortable._

  
The soft, warm chuckle that fell from the panther's lips made him look up again, that beautiful sound alone enough to bring him away from his thoughts, even if only for a minute.

  
“I can honestly say that I have never considered looking at them from the ground. I might have to try that at some point, Mr. Lang.” His expression eased a little, but the concern was still there. It still lingered. “Are you sure you are okay? I thought I heard… crying.”

  
Soft rays of sunlight danced over Scott's eyes, reflecting off of the tears that remained unshed. “Me? Crying?” he mused as if in disbelief, a smile forcefully pulling on his lips. It made the ache in the pit of his stomach worse. “Pfft, of course not.” _Liar._ “What is there to cry about? This place is amazing!”

  
The presence of concern never left the king's features. It was beginning to tug at the worry that had blossomed over Scott's mind. He was worrying someone. He was being bothersome. _You're not fooling anyone._

  
“Well, thank you, Scott,” he kept going back and forth between his last and first name, “But, and forgive me if I am wrong , I believe that you are not as fine as you make yourself seem.”

  
_Told you. You're an idiot._

  
“What? What, uh… what do you mean? I'm fine.” The response was almost natural. Almost. But at the same time, it was mechanical. It was something put on repeat, a few simple words he'd placed together for so long that sometimes he didn't even realize he said it. “Honest. I'm fine.”

  
T'Challa was not convinced, and that was clear in the way his brows scrunched and his lips pursed. “Scott…. I know that we are not very close, but I want you to know that I am here for you,” he assured, seeming to pause before placing a gentle hand on the slighter man's shoulder.

  
Scott's eyes snapped to lock with those warm brown ones. _Don't listen to him. He's just going to try to make you choke down those awful pills. He doesn't actually care about you. No one does._

  
“I care about you.”

  
_No he doesn't._

  
“And I am always here to listen to anything you might need to say.” The calm, reassuring smile that fell upon the taller man's lips made Scott's jaw clench. He found himself locked in a stare, unable to take his eyes away from those brilliant, enchanting ones.

  
_He doesn't mean it._

  
“I mean it.”

  
Scott broke. And suddenly he was wrapped up in warm arms, pressed against a broad frame with a hand at the nape of his neck. He didn't move away, didn't deny the king or himself. He let himself lean against the other, his shoulders tensing up as his emotions coiled in a wave of pain and anger. He wasn't sure what for though. For being trapped here? For letting Cassie down? For letting himself do anything but smile? He wanted to scream, to draw out the demons, to banish them to the hell that they came from.

  
“It is alright, Little Lang,” the panther purred, his fingers soft as they pet the back of Scott's hair, curling around the longer strands with such a careful touch. “We all have to cry sometime. It is not a weakness, and I understand that you must feel overwhelmed.”

  
The vibrations from the Wakandan king's chest served as a sort of distraction, the deep hum of his accented voice lulling him, calming his frayed nerves. It wasn't alright. Nothing was okay. And it _hurt_. It hurt so bad and no one understood that. No one understood the torturous cell his mind could be.

  
“It is okay now, little ant.”

  
Scott looked up from his tucked place against the other, a damp feeling on his cheeks and fresh tears spilling over in his eyes. He was crying again. He hadn't even realized it, unable to focus on anything besides the deep ache and the hollow emptiness in his chest.

  
And then there was a thumb wiping over his cheeks, an attempt at drying the tears that still flowed. There was only sweetness in the touch, only kindness in that face above him, only admirable patience seeping from every fiber and every cell. Scott was caught, unable to break their new eye contact, captivated by the man who had previously posed as a threat and who was now offering him solace.

  
_He's… beautiful._

  
That was the first time in a long while that his mind had told him something that wasn't painful. He slowly pressed his face against that sturdy chest again, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. The thick scent of cologne and warm earth filled his senses, flooded his nose and invaded his mind.

  
_You will be okay._


	4. The Morning After {Bucky x Sam}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Fourth Chapter - Sucky (Bucky/Sam) +  
> ~ Written by Madame Fluff ~
> 
> Mischief: Hello again, readers. We apologize for the delay in update, but rest assured that we have another chapter for you and there are more to come. Everyone that has a tag in this story will get a chapter, so no reason to worry. Feel free to leave comments, as we love hearing from you and take great value in your opinions.

Christmas. It is a time when families come together, out of the cold, and catch up, tell stories, and love one another. With the exception of a few members, the residents of the Avengers tower had become a patchwork family, disagreements between Steve and Tony not too far behind them. The lovebirds had made up, however, and a brand new honeymoon phase fell upon the resident mom and dad of the tower. With this came Steve’s easy agreement to the only Christmas plan Tony had put forward.

A kick-ass party, obviously.

Everyone was together, laughing and smiling while teasing one another, like every real family would. Even Bucky was joining in the festivities, decked out in an ugly sweater (per the request of a certain Steve Rogers) and drinking a mug or two of eggnog. What no one seemed to take into account was the fact that this was _Stark_ eggnog, meaning it contained enough alcohol to have Sam Wilson dizzy after only two mugs.

Sam wasn’t a baby dammit. He was supposed to handle liquor better than this.

Even though the super-soldiers couldn’t _technically_ get drunk, they seemed to be having more fun already. Steve wasn’t marching around like Uncle Sam, and Bucky was actually talking to people. That’s right, the recluse of a super-soldier was making conversation (given, half of it was in Russian to Natasha) but still. Sam couldn’t help but beam at the improvement that had come since he had first met Bucky Barnes.

* * *

 

After a while, the conversation became centralized, and everyone got a tad bit hammered. Of course, it was a _Tony Stark_ party. Many of the heroes sat on the couch, a few stood around the room, and Bucky lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning his weight casually on the door frame.

~~He was going to drive Sam _insane._~~

Okay, so maybe the Falcon had a teensy, tiny, itty-bitty crush on the Winter Soldier. What? Who could blame him? He still had control, he wasn’t swooning over the guy, he just cared about him. A hell of a lot, actually. He couldn’t help but stare and smile whenever Bucky made some outdated reference only he and Steve truly understood. This was the guy Steve had talked about - Bucky minus all the HYDRA conditioning and PTSD. At least for now, and that was beautiful.

Sam soon headed into the kitchen, hoping for another mug of eggnog (because sobriety was out of the question at this point) and as he passed Bucky, the usually somber man gave him a look he couldn’t identify before he was already past him. He whistled as he poured another mug for himself, turning and heading toward the living room once again.

He didn’t make it there, however, before he was grabbed.

Dizziness wasn’t the right word. It was an out-of-body experience, being kissed by Bucky. Sam didn’t even feel his face, overcome with the warmth in his drunken gut and the scent of musk and laundry detergent that followed Bucky around. He heard Natasha’s soft whistle, followed by a small woo from Tony.

Only now was Sam regaining some form of feeling in his limbs. He realized that he was dipped over like the end of a ballroom dance, Bucky’s right arm wrapped around his waist while his left hand cradled the back of Sam’s head.

* * *

 

That was all he could remember before waking up, warm breath on his neck and unusually crisp sheets against his bare torso. His dark eyes fluttered open, and a quick scan of the room confirmed his suspicions that it was, in fact, not his. What didn’t make sense, however, was that it was Steve and Tony’s room.

Shit.

He turned over slowly so as not to disturb the slumbering man whose metallic arm was thrown haphazardly over his waist. Luckily this movement gave him physical proof that they were both still wearing pants. But that didn’t make much sense either.

“Good morning,” came an oddly familiar husky morning-voice.

“Mornin’… You remember any of what happened last night?” Sam asked blearily.

Bucky let out a breathy chuckle. “We made out. That’s all.”

The wording made Sam’s cheeks darken. Made out. Like they were a couple of teenagers.

Then Sam realized something. Bucky probably hadn’t been properly kissed for literally 70 years. In that light, he guessed a little teenager-like vocabulary was acceptable. Given that Tony and Steve had probably crashed somewhere else after finding the two of them in their room, he saw no harm in cuddling the taller man and dozing back off.

Even with a cold metallic arm around his waist, he had a hard time remembering being this comfortable.


End file.
